The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate

Myron ran. On the floor of the corridor lay a couple of knives dropped by the thieves in their flight. Beyond them lay the bodies of two of Tjay's men.

One of the cloaks in which they had been gathering loot lay near them, its precious load scattered across the floor and gleaming faintly in the light reflected from the burial chamber. Myron felt precious relics of antiquity crunch beneath his boots. He raced through the pillared hall, on whose floor an abandoned torch still glowed. He ran up the long passage and bounded up the steps.

The three tumbled out of the entrance into the moonlight that bathed the ravine, and into the milling, gibbering crowd of tomb robbers. One of these addressed a question in Egyptian to Myron, then looked past the Milesian with wide-eyed astonishment. The man pointed and cried out-Myron, turning, saw what was amiss. Kothar still wore the golden headdress of King Siptah. In an instant he, Kothar, and Bessas formed a knot at the entrance to the tomb, swords out, while the thieves ringed them with drawn knives.

"We shall attack," growled Bessas. "I can cut our way through these curs, if you two will guard my back. Follow me I Verethraghna aid us!"

Bessas leaped with the speed of a charging leopard, his sword a silvery blur in the moonlight. One thief went down, slashed to death. The others tried to close around the Bactrian but were driven back by the thrusts and slashes of Myron and Kothar. Myron caught one stab in the folds of the cloak wrapped around his left arm. As his leathern corselet stopped another, he felt his sword cut meat.

Cursing his age, Myron found he was panting and falling behind the other two. His heart pounding painfully, he whirled and slashed in a frenzy of effort.

Then came a distraction. A band of white-clad men came running up the ravine, pointing and shouting. In a twinkling the fight at the head of the ravine broke up. The steep stony landscape was dotted with fleeing figures, pursued by shaven-headed, linen-clad men with swords.

"This way!" cried Bessas, leading his companions with long bounds up the mountain trail by which they had come.

The Bactrian set a fearful pace. Myron stumbled gasping after his leader, never quite losing sight of him but never catching up. Behind, the sounds of flight and pursuit died away. When silence and solitude once more reigned in the Valley of Kings, Bessas halted, dragging his forearm across his forehead. Myron gasped:

"Who—who were those men—who arrived—at the end?"

"A patrol of priests, trying to put down grave robbery," said Kothar.

Myron said: "O Bessas, however did you remember the way? I was hopelessly lost before I had followed this trail for a bowshot."

Bessas' white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "My mind may not be up to such flights of the spirit as Kothar's nor yet such feats of intellect as yours, but I have enough wit to pay heed to where I put my feet! Kothar, in the name of the Sleepless One, take off that crown ere we meet another body!"

Kothar doffed the object and hid it under his cloak. "You are right. If I walked into the temple of Amon wearing this, it might give rise to questions. It might even be deemed in bad taste!"